


Written in Blood, But Not How You Might Expect

by Kuronrko98



Series: Maladaptive Daydreaming Work: The Cube and Related Universes [2]
Category: Original Work, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Jess Perry | The Vampire, Jordan Sawyer - Freeform, Origin Story, Other, Rating May Change, Sawyer Perry | The Original - Freeform, Vampires, Warnings May Change, aged down, do not copy to another site, i will make an actual chart one day of age shit in the cube but that isnt a today thing, ill add more tags as things pop up, im gonna start putting my oc character tags in here instead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-17 20:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuronrko98/pseuds/Kuronrko98
Summary: When a human dies with a vampire's blood in their system, they become a vampire. When it's all in your head and balance relies on there always being a human 'constant' around, what happens, then? And what happens when you end up the pushed aside, 'other' version of who you've always been?Jess doesn't know. They just have to watch the person they could have been keep living their life. Well, that and figure out what to do with themself now that they're dead.Alternately titled: Jay Isn't The Only One With a Past, You Guys





	1. Mirror Image: May, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> The Vampire has one of the more interesting origin stories! Most of the others, like Jay, are from the original split back in [insert year here], and the others have had a past and a place supplied when they popped up from wherever they come from. This wasn't the case with Jess, and they were also one of the handful of unfortunate members of the Collective who decided to keep the Original's name.
> 
> There are a lot of Jess's in the Cube.

I’m almost surprised when I wake up. At least, I’m surprised I don’t have the heaviness in my chest that always comes when I wake up after dying. I had to have, though, because the nectar is gone and I’m still here.

It doesn’t stop my head from aching.

“Fuck.” My own voice sounds to my left, and I turn my head to see an exact mirror of myself, down to the stains on their old shirt. They sit up with an exaggerated huff. “That was more fun the last time we did it.”

I was right. I can’t just cheat my way out of losing the nectar. Dying like that, of course I’d have to split. A vampire, so there’s still a real, human me.

“Yeah, that’s about as weird as I thought it would be.” I jerk upright. Damon watches us from the couch, head lazily propped up with one hand. “But which one’s the real one?”

“Me,” we both answer.

That. Is certainly something that’s happening.

“ _I_ don’t have any new memories, so.” The other one shrugs and offers me a hand. “Welcome to the Cube, I guess.”

I stare at them. I feel their relief, their confidence, but they have to be wrong. I take their hand, if only to pull myself to my feet. I don’t let go when I’m up, though, watching them carefully.

“I don’t have new memories either,” I say. “So I think we have a problem.”

Their irritation sparks directly from their hand to mine. They don’t believe me, which I understand. I don’t believe them either. I don’t feel any lies coming from them, but there are a lot of good liars around here.

“It’s an easily solved one, though,” Damon pushes between us and I finally release their hand. “Here.”

I shuffle around when he turns to them. I try not to let my stomach twist itself into knots while he inspects them. I shouldn’t be worried. I have no reason to be. I _know_ who I am.

He’s going to tell them they’re the new one, that _they’re_ the vampire. He has to because _I’m_ the real Jess Perry.

He steps back with the smallest of smiles. A reassurance. A smile he gives _me,_ when I’m freaking out. He gives it to them and squeezes their shoulders in a way that tells me all I need to know.

“Human.”

And he turns to me. The other one. I don’t want to meet his eyes. I’m too scared of what I’m going to find.

It’s me.

The newest member of the Collective.

The only difference I feel is the pounding in my head. The ache in my gut that must have less to do with nerves than with the hunger I know I won’t be able to escape if I follow through with the transformation. The enormity of loss, knowing I’m someone _else_ , the _other_ Jess.

The room suddenly feels too bright. I want to leave.

Damon tilts my chin up, and when I finally let myself look at him I don’t find what I expected at all. No coldness there, no dismissal. Interest sparks behind his eyelids. It streams from his fingertips into a well of curiosity I barely catch a glimpse of.

“This is going to be very _interesting._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short, mostly because it's their first glimpse at being Not The Real Jess. They're having a time. The next chapter will be longer, I promise!


	2. A Bad Idea and an Enabler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you squint, there's a character death in this scene

I let Damon take me back to the replica of Salvatore manor him and his brother live in. I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. It’s a comfortable place to want to crawl out of my skin, at least. Or, it would be if I wasn’t being hounded by well-meaning do-gooders like Stefan.

“Put the fucking blood away,” I hiss. Just the smell of the stuff has my head spinning. I can’t concentrate, not with my entire body ready to snatch the bloodbag from his hands. “I’m not going to drink it.”

“If you don’t, you’ll die.”

“I already did.”

“I get it, I do.” Stefan scoots his chair closer to me. “But you can’t just give up. We can help you through it—”

“Look—” I swivel around to glare at him. He pulls up short, and I just barely note the still-present interest painted on his Damon’s face not too far away. I zero back in on Stefan to keep from being distracted. “I know you’re used to doing Vampire 101, but I’m opting out. I’m not giving up. I’m, I dunno, decluttering the Cube.”

His eyebrows draw together. He doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that.

“Besides,” I continue, eyes on Damon now. The corner of his mouth hitches slightly, and I grimace. “It would make a good experiment to see what happens.”

And if I’m right, vampire lessons will hardly be necessary.

Damon pushes off the wall with a sharp-toothed smile for Stefan. “Better stop while you’re ahead, brother. Remember _last time_ you pushed someone into this kind of thing?”

Stefan’s flinch is so fast, so small, that I know I wouldn’t have noticed it if my senses weren’t heightened. The brief shot of hurt in the air helps. The look he gives Damon, though, is unimpressed at most.

“Real nice.” Stefan stands and stalks from the room. He, very pointedly, leaves the bloodbag on the side-table on his way out.

I glower at Damon, who rolls a leading look at the blood.

“Don’t even.” I wrinkle my nose and shove myself out of the chair. I’m so goddamn restless, let it _end!_ “I’ll fuck off into the memories if you so much as suggestively swirl a glass of blood in my direction.”

He raises his hands in submission. “Fine, fine. You don’t want blood. I get it.”

I narrow my eyes. I don’t know what his angle is here. He’s never shown any interest in members of the Collective outside of the real one. It’s always been Jess, probably always will be them, just by virtue of this being their world. I’m not about to let my guard down just because he’s breaking that trend now. If anything, I’m more on edge.

“I assume you have something distracting planned.” I manage to get it to come out in a drawl, much more relaxed than I feel. “Or you wouldn’t have brought me here.”

He shrugs and jerks his head for the stairs in the same motion. I spare a single glance for the bag of blood as I trail behind him but I don’t stop.

“You might not be interested in Stefan’s crash course,” he calls over his shoulder, “But you’d better stay here while you’re trying out the whole _fasting_ thing. Don’t wanna get anyone dead on accident.”

“Why do you care?” I try not to wince at the guilty anger that sparks from him at that. I just can’t keep my mouth shut! This is just going to get worse if I can’t stop the transformation. “They’ll just come back, anyway.”

“If I let you kill someone, I guarantee your other half will turn me to dust without asking questions.” He throws the words back carelessly, like they don’t mean anything.

I stop at the top of the stairs. I stare at him when he turns in the doorway to his room to face me. He’s doing this for _them_. He’s babysitting me to appease my—did he say _other half?_

“Oh, I’m so out of here.”

I turn to go, but—wow, you know, I’ve never actually appreciated how fast vampires can _move?_ One second he’s across the hall, by the time I get myself turned around he’s between me and the stairway. I stumble a couple steps back and for a second, just _one_ second, I want to be faster.

Fast like a vampire.

I quash the thought down.

Damon watches me. Arms crossed, eyebrow raised, he keeps the first level of the building out of my reach. Physically speaking, at least.

“You can’t keep me here.” I mirror him. I’m so much shorter than him, but being who I am—or, was—helps. “I’m not hanging around because you feel obligated to keep me out of trouble.”

In a blur, he’s in my face. He’s too close, my brain screams at me to back up, but I can’t. Not with him searching my eyes like that. It’s different than any look he’s given me before. He’s looking for something.

“Why?” he asks after too long of a silence, too long of him pinning me down with his gaze.

“If you’re just gonna treat me like some lesser part of—”

“No, not that.” He rolls his eyes. It’s so fucking _annoying_. “That, I get. I’m just curious, why _are_ you giving up?”

“I’m not giving up,” I say automatically.

He inclines his head, invades my space even further. “Go on.”

“I have a theory,” I say slowly. I have to choose my words carefully. “I’ll just come back eventually. If I’m wrong, my first stop will be here to get this whole thing over with.”

I can’t be wrong. I won’t be wrong. I’ll die, I’ll wake up, and I’ll be human again. It’ll be even better if I just fuse back to how I was. No living as the other Jess.

No  _ dying _ as the other Jess.

He hums in contemplation and reaches up to cup my face. “No harm done?” he prompts lightly.

My breath voids at the physical contact. I didn’t think I would be able to keep Damon as a friend, let alone—but, really, I live too much for wish fulfillment to expect any less.

“No harm done,” I choke out with an aimless nod. “Not really.”

“I see.” He pauses for a second. Whatever he was looking for, he seems to have found it if the sudden distance in his eyes means anything. “Well, I'm on board. See you soon.”

“Wh—

His other hand touches the side of my head, and

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is finished and yes that is how it's supposed to end.
> 
> I said this one would be longer, and it is. Still only like 1000 words but it's still longer than the last one.


	3. Growing Pains

I know before I’m fully awake that it didn’t work.

The steady pounding in my head hurts even worse than it did before. That, on top of the intensity of the twisting in my gut, I kind of just want to stay here. I try to urge myself back into the cold emptiness that comes before waking up, but it’s a lost cause.

It only takes a few minutes for the restless energy from before to return and I have to move. My neck twinges when I try to lift myself up.

“Fuck,” I hiss. I hate the afterimage of dying. Leftovers, the punishment for daring to come back.

I force myself to my feet. It takes a minute for me to orient myself. I’m in a hall, just like any other in the Cube. None of the doors around me hold a universe or anyone’s home. I don’t know if the Cube will listen to me like it used to now that I’m not the real me. I don’t want to risk wandering around without assurance it won’t dump me in the cave systems or something.

I have to go finish the transformation before I hurt someone, though. As an added bonus, I’ll be able to give Damon a piece of my mind on equal footing.

Ugh, _Damon_.

He broke my neck! I think I have a right to be mad about that! I don’t care if heightened _everything_ is a symptom of the whole vampire thing, _he killed me._ I have a feeling I’d be at least a little pissed even if I weren’t a twice-dead half-vampire.

I should put a stake in him and see how he feels about it when he comes back.

Maybe fuming isn’t the best idea when I’m trying to find a place in this maze from hell.

I check my pockets, but it doesn’t turn up anything that could help. I looked for my key before Stefan tried to twelve-step me, but it must have gone with the other one in the split. I’m scared to find out what else they got.

But I have to check. I don’t have a choice.

I shake my hands out and face a wall, just a blank stretch between two of the empty doors. The pale gray reflects light that seemingly comes from nowhere, and it definitely doesn’t help my headache to look directly at it. I guess that’s as good a way as any to find out whether the other Jess got the Cube in the divorce.

I lift a hand and imagine a scale slider. I touch the air where the setting would be now, closest to one end, and scale it back a few notches.

It lags slightly, more than usual, but the walls darken to the color of slate.

It listened. The Cube is still my sandbox to play in, too.

I laugh a little, a hysterical, giddy sound. It echoes in the empty hall. I slide the scale to the very end until only the glowing green labels above the doors are visible.

Leaving the darkness in place, I move to the closest door. I slap at it until I find the doorknob and stare at the label until it flickers, turns red, and reads ‘shortcut.’

Anyone who thinks we need a key for anything more than aesthetic is a chump. I was scared it would be taken from me, stolen during the split like it was for most of the others, but it _wasn’t_. Like I said, it’s always been Jess. Always been us. As far as the Cube is concerned, I _am_ the key.

The door opens into the Salvatores’ front hall, where the coppery smell of blood has grown even stronger than before. My mouth waters. It takes every ounce of the limited willpower I still have not to run toward the source.

But, hey, my neck didn’t hurt when my head snapped around to find the right direction. Little victories, I guess.

Damon has his back to me when I stalk into the main room, leaned against a table across the way. The hand he raises as a welcoming gesture lazily holds a glass of what has to be blood.

I refrain, again, from vaulting the couches between the two of us. I keep my eyes on the red-stained crystal as I creep closer. I stop a few feet behind him, with just the one sofa and the thin table pressed against it in my way.

“I’m assuming your little _theory_ didn’t pan out.”

“No, it—” I shake my head, too distracted to put much thought into this. “—I just wanted to try.”

Now I’m close enough to see the second glass, nearly full, on the table. I climb onto the sofa anyway and reach slowly, carefully, over the table.

“You ready to not die?” he swirls his glass, and I grit my teeth. “I poured you a— _hey!_ ”

He doesn’t actually stop me from snatching his drink, and I have the glass to my lips before he can complain. I down the thing and—

Yeah, blood still tastes like blood, but it’s _good_. Whatever rewiring my brain went through is working. Even this small amount douses the headache. The coil in my stomach loosens so I can breathe.

I blink and the color of the room sharpens. A sharp pain hits my gums and when I run my tongue over my teeth I find my new fangs extended and ready to hunt. Or something. It’s all very strange.

It feels like minutes since I swallowed, but when I focus back on Damon, he’s just turned around. I manage not to smile at his sour look.

“That’s for killing me,” I say when I hand the glass back. I take the second one from the table for good measure.

“You’re being awfully lenient,” he says dryly while I drain the cup. “My brother was convinced you’d storm in here and tear my head off.”

I run my finger around the inside of my glass. The silence extends long enough to be uncomfortable while I lick it off. But I need to eat! I’m _still_ hungry! I abandon the glass on the table and hop off the couch.

“I still might,” I assure him idly. He didn’t actually apologize, but whatever. I’ll cash in a favor for it later. “But I was gonna die anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

“See, I knew you were smarter than Stefan gave you credit for.”

I hum in agreement. I don’t want to think about the Salvatores discussing me while I’m not here. If I can get some more to eat, I hope my attention span will get a little better than this. I think there’s a stash in the basement, so I drift toward the stairs.

“And where—” I marvel at the new sound, the fact that I can hear his individual footsteps before he cuts me off. Again. “—do you think you’re going?”

I stand my ground and cross my arms. “I’m _hungry_ and I know y’all have more blood.”

“I thought you didn’t want Vampire 101,” Stefan calls from behind me.

I don’t turn. I would rather have my back to him than Damon. I wouldn’t say I don’t trust the older Salvatore, but I’m still a little mad. Just a little.

Okay, I’m still really pissed that Damon broke my fucking neck.

“I speed ran the stages of grief. Jumped right from denial to acceptance.” I keep my eyes on Damon’s, though his expression doesn’t give much away. “Just tell me what to do.”


	4. Jess a Bit to the Left: June 2014

“I just wanted to see if—you know, if you needed help around here.”

Jess—the _real_ one—flits from counter to counter. Their thoughts swirl through the air, garbled letters penned over their head. Whenever they touch a pen to a book, a set of words package themselves together and shrink onto the paper. They don’t seem to notice the words, they only vaguely swat them out of the way as they move from one book to another.

I never realized how unsettling it looks from the outside. I guess you never do, really. From here, though, in the doorway because they haven’t invited me in, I can’t help being relieved it’s them in there and not me.

“No, I’m fine here,” they assure me without actually looking up. “I’d love a hand, but I’m sure you remember—”

“A second head just gets in the way.” I avert my eyes and shuffle my feet. “I know. I just want something to do. I didn’t come with a _life_ , you know, I’m just. Here.”

The words stop moving before they do. The chaos doesn’t quite turn into order, but it makes it easier to see. A few phrases catch my eye, _Jezabeth playing pranks again_ and _Who knows what Jay’s up to_ already packaged up above their head. They stay still, profile to me, pen poised above a paper.

“I have all of this energy I never had before. I know you’re busy. Trust me, I know that,” I press the thought so hard, the words float up to join the ones already cluttered near the ceiling. “This used to be my job, too. So I know there has to be _something_ I can do.”

They look up to me, and I realize how tired they must be. Just a couple weeks ago, that was me with a pen in my hand. Cramps only made the job harder, but I couldn’t stop writing or my thoughts would circle and fester. Keeping track of everything is an impossible task for one person, especially when they also have the real world to deal with.

While having the Salvatores breathing down my neck is a pain, I don’t miss that. At least I get a chance to really see the Cube itself now that Stefan doesn’t think I’m gonna kill someone.

“I get it. I’m not sure what I’d do if I were in your shoes.” Their gaze flicks away for a second, and I know what they’re thinking even without the feedback of self-loathing I get from them. At least they recognize that this sucks for me. “I’ll see what I can find.”

They drop their pen and turn away from the counter. With a wave of their hand, every word in the air pops like a bubble. “Show me the complaints. Requests. Whatever I put on the damn form.”

They didn’t have to say it out loud, but we don’t have to talk out loud either. We grew up in the real world. We’re going to have these kinds of habits.

A sea of papers fill the air, to the point that Jess has to join me in the doorway to avoid being consumed by them. They sigh.

“Remove repeats and number each unique request with how many repeats there are.” They glance at me with a tired smile while the notes comply. “Clunky, but it’s better than I’d get in reality. Come on in.”

I grunt in agreement. The number of requests is still massive, but at least we can enter the room. A dome of papers encapsules us, still too many to be practical.

“Let’s see.” Jess hums thoughtfully. They look to me with a grin. “Any ideas?”

I wait a second to see if they’re joking, if they’re _really_ handing the reins over to me, then I step forward so I’m in the middle of the dome. I think I want only the requests with more than five repeats.

The papers thin.

I amend that to ten. Once again, more papers disappear and now I can see patches of the rest of the room. When I up it to twenty, they reconfigure themselves to float in a band around us, three requests tall.

When I get to forty, only five requests remain. I put them in order of highest requests to lowest.

“God, I wish you _could_ help out here,” Jess mutters. They reach out to grab the lowest priority paper at forty-two repeats. “‘A roster for Collective members.’ Huh.”

I look over their shoulder and point at a footnote. “Some people want a schedule, too.”

“I can handle that.” They let go of the paper and it disappears.

I get the next one. Forty-five repeats. “‘Put restrictions on Jay’s research.’”

Jess and I share a heavy look. I let this one go without further comment. That’s a can of worms we’ve been avoiding dealing with.

“‘Find Tchaikovsky and kill him.’” They groan at the circled forty-nine on the paper. “We’ve had this conversation _so many times_.”

“We should have a meeting about it,” I suggest. “See if we can put our head together. We haven’t actually thought like a _Collective_ in a while.”

“I guess.” They let it go and immediately grab the next one. They don’t read it out loud, though. They just stare at it.

I take it and my shoulders sag. I don’t want to think about that, either. He’ll come back when he wants to. If he wants to.

It has fifty-eight requests, though.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, even though I still haven’t relinquished the slip. “Connor’s taken up enough of our time.”

They nod.

I let go of the paper and reach for the last one. It has more than a hundred repeats, so it has to be important. That’s enough for everyone in the Collective to put at least three in.

“‘The Lobby needs a bartender.’” I read it a few more times in my head to be sure that’s what it’s really asking for. Under it are a few footnotes. A welcome party for new arrivals, a renovation for the place, make it easier to find, so much stuff.

“Does that sound okay to you?” they ask. I look up to find them watching me nervously. “We can find something else, of course. There has to be something else in this mess that you can do.”

I look at the paper again and actually consider it.

A few weeks ago, I was the real Jess Perry. I spent all of my time cooped up in the Room with a pen in my hand and other people's lives dancing through my head. I was okay with that, and I was overjoyed when I realized I would be able to do it without nectar in my head.

Now, I’m… not. I’m a vampire. I’m Jess-a-bit-to-the-left. I can’t go back to my old job and I have so much energy it hurts. I’m always hungry, so I doubt I’d be able to do work like what the real one has to anymore anyway. Not for hours at a time, anyway.

And this is, well, it’s a _project_. It’s something to do with my time and a way to do something that isn’t all tied up with who I was.

Even with all of that aside, I want to actually see everyone. I want to see the rest of the Collective instead of being a vague admin presence in the back of everyone’s head.

I fold the request in half and tuck it in my pocket.

“No, this is fine.” I start to back for the door. “Thanks. You didn’t have to take the time for this, so I appreciate it.”

They shrug. The glazed look has already returned to their eyes. The words start oozing from their head again.

“It’s no problem. I probably needed the break.” They already have a pen in their hand by the time I get the door closed.

I shudder. Yeah, in retrospect I’m glad I get to leave the Room behind.


	5. Bubbling Over

“You look pleased with yourself.”

I flick a glance at Damon. He’s the first one here, a couple hours earlier than the invitations said. His elbows rest on the bar. The bar I just washed. The bar I washed specifically to get rid of people’s greasy skin residue. That bar.

I sigh.

“What do you want, Damon?”

He straightens up and spins in his stool to face the rest of the cavernous room. “Don’t tell me you thought I wouldn’t come for the grand re-opening of the Lobby.”

“The Lounge,” I say firmly. I feel more than see him roll his eyes.

I knew I would get push back about changing the name. It’s been the Lobby since we made the place. It hasn’t even been that long from my perspective, but most of the Collective have memories spanning years of visiting the Lobby. Then the first time we actually stood apart, outside of these constructed memories…

It was here.

But a lobby is temporary. You sit in a lobby’s bar, then you move on to your next stop. No, you come to a lounge to rest. A lounge is a recurring watering hole. The Lounge can be a place where we learn to exist together again, even though the Collective has been splintered.

Maybe everyone will be so caught up in the name they’ll ignore the rest of my changes.

Or not.

“More like the Tavern.” He waves a hand at the torches next to the doors. “I barely recognize this place.”

“That’s the point,” I snap.  “The Lounge is my consolation prize. I had to wipe all of Jess’s fingerprints off it.”

It’s _mine,_ is what I don’t say, though I might as well have. The heavy wooden tables, their matching chairs. Braziers line the walls and fill the Lounge with warm light. It’s so different from the clubby, strobe-lit atmosphere it used to be. It’s all to distance it from the modern, sleek look the rest of the Cube has.

Even decorated like it’s Christmas Eve, it feels like it’s mine.

He twists around to look at me. I’m surprised at the curiosity that still sparks from him. I thought he would lose interest in the brand new vampire in the Cube before long, but it’s been a couple months now. His brother has long since cleared me to wander by myself, but I never seem to _be_ by myself.

“Why are you here?” I ask, voice too loud for the otherwise silent bar. “You don’t have to keep an eye on me anymore.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I have anything better to do. Jesse’s coming with _Winchester,_ so I’m down a date.”

He says this with a grimace, but something’s strange about that. They run around with a gaggle of aged-down television figures, that’s nothing new. Hell, it’s new for _me_ to not have any of them around. But that’s not me anymore, not my thing, another thing Jess has that the rest of us don’t.

“Blatant favoritism,” I note idly. We—they—don’t normally do that. I wonder what’s going on. “What an unexpected turn of events.”

His gaze turns unamused. “Don’t go out of your way to feel bad for me. Might pull something.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m tired of hearing about them. I was tired of it when I _was_ them. Maybe—”

I cut off and turn a bitter look down at the bar. He scoots closer and a warped reflection of him appears on the glossy surface. His elbows find their places on the bar, but I don’t care.

“Maybe?” he prompts. I look up to find a scrutinous gaze on me, the same one he wielded while I was still transitioning, and immediately avert my eyes again. “Maybe I’m here because you’ve spent two months as a vampire without a single complaint. No meltdowns. No tantrums. You haven’t even snapped at me for killing you.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” I move to slip away, but his hand grips my wrist like a vice.

“You’re about to host a party,” he presses. “If you can’t handle me being a pest, how will you deal with the entire Collective?”

“ _Why do you care?_ ” I’m a lot louder than I thought I was going to be. I need to get out of here, get some air, wait for the party to start. If I could just get Damon to leave me alone. “If  _they_  told you to keep an eye on me you can stop.”

With how fast he lets go, you’d think I’d burned him. I look back once and all of this irritation is immediately replaced by guilt.

His jaw sets. The seething anger in his eyes can’t hide the echo of hurt in the air. I expect him to get up, to leave, but he doesn’t move. “I haven’t talked to Jesse in weeks. They haven’t told me to do anything.”

“Then _why?_ ” I growl. “Why come in here? To make a point? To complain about Jess—because, you know, I _love_ hearing people complain about their love lives with someone who _I used to be!_ ”

He snaps his fingers, as if my steadily growing volume doesn’t faze him at all. “That’s why.”

“What? You have no right to call me out on anything, I'm _fine._ ”

“No one’s just fine with being a vampire.” He straightens up and crosses his arms. “You either deal with it and be nice like _Stefan—_ ” He makes a face. “—or you bottle it up and make a mess when it’s too much.”

“Like you,” I supply. I’d like to think I’m being helpful. 

“Like I did,” he corrects. “The very real threat of Jesse’s retribution is one hell of a motivator.”

“I know that part.” I wrinkle my nose and slide into a stool on my side of the bar. That he actually thinks they would do anything to him is laughable. “But when the hell do you ‘deal with’ your shit? It’s not with them, and I seriously doubt it’s with Stefan.”

“I have my ways.” He’s not being helpful at all. “With how you hold this shit in, I doubt me ‘complaining about my love life’ covers it.”

Oh my god.

“You want me to vent? At you?” I ask in disbelief. “Like, give you all the little tiny things my new-vampire brain has fixated on to be mad about?”

He pauses. It’s almost long enough to count as a hesitation. “Maybe not everything.”

I rub a hand over my face. He’s really serious about this. If I had to choose which Salvatore I thought would force me to drain this abscess of emotion, it wouldn’t have been Damon. I would have said neither, honestly, because I’m pretty sure I fooled Stefan about well I’m dealing with this.

“Just—” I shake my head and flap a hand in his direction. “Let me do this party. If I freak out and hurt someone, you’ll even have the satisfaction of telling me how right you are.”

“Tempting.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Damon,” I promise. “I have plenty of blood on hand so I won’t even be hungry.”

He purses his lips, and I can tell he still isn’t buying it.

“Goddamn it, if you don’t drop it and let me reveal my stupid bar I’m going to _actually_ rip your head off.” I groan. “It won’t even be for killing me. It’ll be for ruining my party!”

He grins and hops up from the stool.

“I knew you were still gonna hold that against me,” he says, though he doesn’t actually sound that worried. Then he adds, seriously, “If you haven’t found me by morning, I’ll track you down and make sure you don’t let this slide.”

I flap a hand at him again and he finally retreats toward the door. When he gets there, I really can’t help myself.

“Will you be here tonight?”

He pauses, door open. His answering smile is so much different than how he looked at me when I was human. Normal interest, normal smile. Nothing… extra.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

No matter what else might be happening, I find myself smiling to myself while I return to my preparations for Christmas in July. It isn't until halfway through the night that I realize why Damon talking about Jess was weird. He wasn't calling them that, the lazy nickname we let everyone use.

I've never heard him call them Jesse before.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are moderated, simply because I have the Anxiety and I know these are self-insert adjacent. I'm not going to _not_ accept any comments, I just want to see them before they post for everybody to see. If there are ever any criticisms or flaming, I'm not gonna censor that out. I just want to be the first one to read it.


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